


Confessional In The Back Of An Impala

by deang1rl (pinkworm)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28961355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkworm/pseuds/deang1rl
Summary: I’d try to think of God and he’d be the one I’d see. I’d run away from my nightmares of Hell and I’d run into him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 5





	Confessional In The Back Of An Impala

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil something I wrote because I am brain damaged

There’s not a lot in me, not a lot of words, nor a lot of hope. When I was seven, my old man shot me in the chest in my dream. Or so he says at least, that it was a dream. Day in and day out I could feel the hole in my heart throb. Now that I am bigger than I was when seven, the hole has taken the shape of a man. People keep passing through it but no one fits, and it hurts. I feel like a carved out fruit, left to rot. I think I was the most rotten in Hell. I left it behind, but it didn’t leave me. I carried the stench with me, I carried the burning bodies with me back here. Everyday I looked at my hands and all I wanted to do was cut them off. I was so angry, so clueless, I kept trying to rid me of myself. 

Then something happened, as it always does. A person walked into my heart and stood in the archway shaped like a man, and he fit. It made my body ache. I even forgot I was faithless for a minute and got convinced this was God. I thought this is how I was supposed to go, with God exploding out of me. And then I didn’t. The man walked out and came stood in front of me - in a sad trenchcoat with his voice laced with determination. He pulled me through perdition, he said. I didn’t believe him. He showed me the proof. He had marked me. He had marked me where a friend keeps his hand to comfort you, he had left a reminder that I too was allowed to have my pain abated. 

An angel. He said He was an angel. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to laugh in his face because his God had sent him to watch over someone who was full of all things abhorrent. Someone irreparable. 

But he beat me to it. He laughed in  _ my  _ face, asking why I thought I wasn’t worth saving. How is one supposed to answer that? How was I to put the throbbing in my hands every time I did a killing into words? How was I to tell him that repentance didn’t come easy to me, and after Hell, she packed her bags and left me for good, shaking her head. Of course I believed I didn’t deserve to be saved, but I didn’t want to say it in case someone agreed. 

He stayed, nevertheless. He looked over me and after me. He came to me when I needed him, when I felt like I was five again. He came to me when I was spitting blood and when I was out for someone else’s. I thought this was going to work out after all.

Only it didn’t. He would go away but his face wouldn't. He started coming to me in my dreams, in my solitary moments. I’d try to think of God and he’d be the one I’d see. I’d run away from my nightmares of Hell and I’d run into him. 

I had never had a best friend, he had never had someone to talk to, I think that made us what we were. I kept thinking this is how it was supposed to be - I’d let him change me and think nothing of it. I’d let him take one of the faithless men America was bursting at the seams with and mould him into someone with credence. That’s what I did. I let him put a knife through me and I let him bandage me afterwards. I was okay with it, I had never had a friend. I was going along with it until I wasn’t. 

I still don’t know whether I woke up one day and decided to look at him differently, or it was him, and his grace which turned me into who I am now. Maybe he didn’t even know that he was the cause, he was just letting me fall in love with him without a clue. I was his doing, and he was my undoing. I knew it for sure when he left me for a long time and I finally decided to heed his words and pray. 

I got on my knees, and I felt the ground underneath me laugh but I stayed put. I closed my eyes and got ready to ask for something for myself for once. I led my mind to the prayer but the only thing it would hum was his name. I was praying to him, I was hoping he’d hear me. That’s when I knew this wasn’t what I had been believing it to be. 

He came back, but he never told me whether he knew of the things I was doing. 

Now he’s here. We walk together and eat together. He talks to me and laughs at my jokes. I asked him if he would go away again and he said not without me. I think the pit in me started closing that day on. I have to tell you, there are a lot of moments when I have to physically stop myself from touching his face. At night I put my hand over his etched hand on my skin and that’s the closest I have got to him. It’s how I console myself. 

I see myself reflected back in his eyes and that’s the only time I don’t wince upon seeing myself. I deliberately do things which would be too careless of Dean Winchester from Before just so he can shake his head slightly and ask me what I would do without him. Maybe one day I will answer. Maybe one day I will tell him I would go back to hell and wait for him to pull me up again. And maybe this time, I will pull him down by the collar and kiss him. 

As I sit here with the summer breeze carrying my hopes and fears all over this city, I pray that it reaches him before he reaches this car and he knows it all without me having to say it. Maybe I will spare all this and kiss him right when he comes to sit next to me. Maybe he will hold my heart in his throat for a few moments and maybe that is how I will have divinity touch me. Maybe that is how I will be salvaged. 


End file.
